A Time Lord By Any Other Name
by KatieKat527
Summary: She had faced disaster. He was facing obscurity. She was the last of the Time Lords. He was just John Smith. A drastic role reversal leads to some interesting times. AU
1. How Long Must We Sing This Song

Disclaimer: I own nothing _Doctor Who _related. If I did, the show would never have progressed past the Doctor and Rose pairing.

Author's Note: I say it now to get it out of the way; this is very, very AU. If that's not your cup of tea, then you'd better just leave now. This is my very first _Who_ fic, so please be kind. Reviews are always appreciated, but don't bother flaming because I won't bother reading it.

Did I mention reviews are love? Cause they are. Really.

Warning: AU, like I said. So be prepared.

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"_And the battles just begun _

_There's many lost, but tell me who has won" - U2, Sunday Bloody Sunday_

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The first thing she did when she found consciousness, was scream.

She was hardly an easily panicked woman. Anyone who had spent less than five minutes with her would have known that she didn't scare without good reason; and even then it took a lot more for that fear to pass her features. Within her home and people, she'd acquired quite the reputation for being recklessly brilliant in dealing with threats that brought men to their knees, without so much as batting an eyelash in the face of enemies.

She was revered by countless beings in the galaxy, and feared by just as many. Admired by some of her own people, yet only begrudgingly accepted by many in the face of her defiant outlook on the universe.

Always looking, always exploring. Always, _always_, having the time of her life else she stop and become like them. Sitting on the sidelines, watching and monitoring, but never a part of the glorious history that makes it all so _wonderful_.

She's lived a long life, an incredible life, full of the unexpected, and never once has she regretted looking into the Untempered Schism and running, running, _running _all across this spectacular universe and finding all those people and places and becoming part of it all. Helping, hurting, loving, hating, success, disaster; there was nothing like this old existence that she counted herself inexplicably lucky to be in. She never would understand how her species had been able to stay away from it all.

So much time running away from that life. When the Time War came there was no escaping.

She become the thing she thought she'd never have to be. A soldier. Many would argue that she'd had it in her blood from the day she came into existence. She didn't do weapons. She fought only when she was forced to. And oh, she was forced.

Blood and sweat and tears. So many lost and so much she'd never see again. Planets falling and species dying. Everything, it seemed, was turning to dust. There was nothing she could do, only fight, fight, fight until the bitter end to keep her own planet alive.

And then it was all gone. It was just her and then and there were only two choices she could make. She could let the Daleks take over, let the inhabitants of he world continue to be killed or turned into them. Or she could end it. End it all. Forever.

The Time Lords gone. The Daleks gone. Truly the end of the last great Time War.

She wasn't supposed to survive it. She wasn't supposed to wake up to the silence in her over cluttered mind that told her in no uncertain terms that Gallifrey and everyone on it - men, women, children, best friends, enemies - were gone, all gone. Because of her.

And she was alive. She was safe. Safe where she'd woken, weak from a most definitely forced regeneration in the TARDIS, that had led her to this safety in the last possible moment.

And she screamed.

Screamed loudly and heartbreakingly. Screamed as unbidden tears ran helpless, continuously down her face and onto the metal grating of the TARDIS floor. Screamed and screamed and screamed until her throat was raw and dry and she couldn't possibly get any noise or sign that she was alive to come from even her superior vocal chords for days.

She stayed like that for days and days; never leaving, never fully accepting that gentle hum of her brilliant machine in her mind that tried to bring her comfort. She stayed there, not eating, not sleeping, so numb, so very, very numb and unable to comprehend any of it. She didn't know how she'd ever be able to stand again, to fly her ship anywhere else in all of history.

Running, running, running. Always so desperately running. How fitting, she thinks, that now there is no place she can hide now that everything's run from her.

The Bad Wolf was broken.


	2. Beginning Anew

Author's Note: Another day, another chapter. Well, another few minutes, another chapter. Or...whatever. You get the point.

You know what makes the world go round? Reviews.

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"_All of us get lost in the darkness, dreamers learn to steer by the stars." - Rush, The Pass_

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It was a strange name to choose, she knew, she had always known.

Most, if not all the Time Lords had seen humor in it, chalking it up to all the eccentricities she hadn't failed to show in each and every one of her regenerations. Traveling across time and space was a different story altogether. After all, if was a little more than difficult to introduce herself to any person on Earth as simply 'Bad Wolf.'

On most occasions, she would simply use her usual pseudonym 'Jane Smith', or if she was feeling particularly cheeky, she'd find a way for them to just call her 'Wolf.' After all, most everyone could have a little nickname or the like, so it usually wasn't that odd.

Still, the Bad Wolf chose her name for a reason, and despite what her people and many of the friends she'd collected among the years thought, that reason was not because she was one olive short of a cocktail.

When she'd first heard the old little earth story, she'd been but a child first stepping into this universe. It was a cute little saying, 'here comes the big, bad wolf', but one she'd somehow grown affectionate of. She'd always been a bit crazy, that she never denied. If you knew her well enough, you could tell she positively relished in it sometimes. Gave her an edge, it did. Never knew what to expect from her.

She couldn't say herself why the saying kept with her through the years, or why it felt so important. But then she'd chosen it, marked herself as it, and embodied it. When she'd chosen it, it had been as it should always should have been. When you chose your name, it was you. It told a story. It's like searching your whole life for the right puzzle piece, and when it snaps in place it just feels right.

The people she'd grown close to, and even those having only met her once, would say that there was nothing more true than her own title. As a woman, as a Time Lord, she was so full of life. She'd been ridiculed by those on her planet for being so utterly human. She could cry and scream and be completely touched by such trivial things. Yet as her name went, it was so very accurate. Big Bad Wolf, indeed. People would see her as she faced her enemies. Like a snake, slithering in with mystifying words and trapping those opposing her with iron fists and sharp claws.

She was amazing and brilliant, clever and remarkable. She was also dangerous. So very dangerous when she knew an injustice. Such fire was there in her gaze when she knew she was about to do something that no one else could or would do for the greater purpose.

And that was precisely what she was doing now.

How long it had taken for her to finally lift herself off the grille of the floor and sit herself into the captain's chair, she would really never know. Ironic, she thought bitterly, that she was now the last of the Time Lords, those pompous people who did nothing but watch as time flew by and monitor all of the universe, and she couldn't even properly time how long it had been since she'd had a coherent thought.

She felt that familiar old hum again, and she glanced up at the central column as the lights somewhat flickered. At this she smiled a bit. The first of anything close to a smile she'd given since…

Her smile wavered. Still, at this she forced herself to jump off the comfortable spot she had on the chair and walked around the TARDIS console, hand running over the controls lightly.

_I know luv_, she mentally whispered to her ship, unable to have anger at her urge to fly once again, instead of lingering in the vortex where they'd both been mourning. She could still hear the faint echo of the TARDIS's song running through her mind, trying to soothe her. The moments in which she'd hated her ship for forcing her to live on while the others could not hadn't lasted long once she'd realized that they truly were the last of their kind, and all that was left of Gallifrey was held inside these walls.

The Bad Wolf knew, regardless of how long she waited, there would never be time enough to erase the raw pain that would now live on through her forever as the destroyer of her own world. Time, as she'd learned as a mere child in the Academy, would never stop for her. It could go forward, and she could go backwards, but there would always be worlds out there that needed saving, people crying for help when all seemed lost, and beings still fighting their own war, even if not as epic as her own.

She wasn't too proud to stay in the TARDIS and cry. But she was too proud to stay when the universe needed her. She was, after all, the last of the Gallifreyan people. The only one left to watch over time as others threatened to destroy it. That she would do. That she would carry on, so that her people would live on. And maybe, maybe one of these days, so far in her future that it would have to be, she might just find herself able to think about them without devastation, but with a fond smile.

But not now, not today. Most definitely not today. For now, all she could do was move on, same as she always did; running until the road ran out, and then still only changing course. That was all she could do now, all she could bare to do. She'd remember later. For now, all she needed was to forget.

Heaving a sigh, for better or for worse, she turned and leaned toward the monitor as she braced the console.

"All right, love, what have we got?"

Huh. New voice. Oh, right, regeneration. Sounded a little old, not too old. Maybe mid forties? Possibly thirties? She could never really tell just to hear herself. She'd have to see a mirror-

The Bad Wolf held tight, one hand on a lever and the other flailing for a moment as the ship shook violently. Attempting to make out the readings among the chaos, she managed to read out the swirling text on the monitor that would make no sense to anyone other than herself. Half cursing and half chuckling, she couldn't help the slightly manic grin that spread across her face.

"Well old girl, looks like we're back in the game!"

She decided not to care that her laugh sounded more hysterical than jovial. The TARDIS hummed in agreement.


	3. Hello, My Name is

Author's Note: I assure you, as confusing as it may seem, this story _does_ indeed have a grand master plan. Honest. Reviews are wonderful things!

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"_Every man dies - Not every man really lives" - William Ross Wallace_

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To all the world that saw him, John Smith was the embodiment of a simple man.

It wasn't to say that he wasn't a good and honest person, because he was. Exceedingly so, actually. A new addition to the Farringham School for Boys, John was immediately pegged as a rather timid kind of man. For the most part he seemed content in keeping to himself, smiling and conversing with all the staff and the few friends he had made since settling in the town, yet not overly social when he didn't have to be.

He hardly spoke much of his childhood, about the place he lived or the family he grew up with. The most you could get out of him was that he used to live in Nottingham with his mother and father as a child, and really had no siblings to speak of.

He'd come to Farringham on somewhat of a whim, it seemed, after the recent death of his dear mother. They'd been extremely close to the bitter end, him holding her hand as she passed from sickness. His father himself had lost his life in war some time ago, bringing mother and son closer than ever.

The move to Farringham turned out to be a decision he'd made more out of the need to find a new lease on life, as it were, since he was no longer any use staying at his old home. He was at something of an impasse, having had his 35th birthday only recently and needing a change.

You would think that a somewhat shy man such as John was, that women wouldn't necessarily flock to him as they did. But he was already quite a handsome man, tall as he was with chocolate brown hair you could run your fingers through and a grin that could make any heart flutter. The way he was so reserved just seemed to add to his charm.

Though John himself would never begin to admit any of this. More to the point, he was completely oblivious to it. To be honest, he'd never really thought that much of himself in that particular way. Maybe that sounded a little self-deprecating, but it really wasn't based on any sour opinion of himself. He was really quite content keeping out of the public eye, and focusing on more important things.

Well, he says more important things. That probably just depended on what you classified as important. Honestly, though, he'd like to think that his own future held a little higher on the list than teaching young boys to kill. The thought itself ran a small shudder through him. The thought of war always did something to his nerves. He knew that it could be unavoidable, and also that preparing these boys for it was what the school was trying to do. He just couldn't stop himself from thinking that there had to be another way, a better way than glamorizing warfare.

With a shake of his head to clear the thoughts from his mind, John turned from the door where he'd just entered his room, a soft click reverberating as he closed it from behind him. Briskly pulling off his jacket and laying it over a nearby chair, he set himself down and leaned forward slightly, reaching down to the hard floor. Searching more from memory than his own eyes, he quickly gripped a small notebook that had been dropped on his departure, heaving a sigh as he opened it to reveal the first page.

"A Journal of Impossible Things," he read aloud the manuscript title across the page, with his own name written below in the same flawless writing. Most logical people at his age had probably foregone even thinking about the words "future" and "dreams" in the same sentence, but he always liked to think that there could be more to life than that.

He'd started the journal quite some time ago, long before his mother had gotten sick. He'd woken from some nightmare, bolting right up as soon as his eyes shot open, the fleeting remnants of the dream just on his surface memory. As his heart slowed from the latent fear, he remembered more and more of the bits and pieces of his dream. Monstrous creatures mucking about, howling and screaming and chasing. Creatures beyond even his own vivid imagination. Or so he'd thought before then. Without any logical reasoning he could find even to this day, he'd dug through the wooden table that stood beside his bed, riffling through several bits and bobs until he found exactly what he was searching for.

A notebook and a writing instrument.

And he'd drawn. Everything he saw he drew, in precise detail to his memories. It was a talent he'd seemed to have from birth, his mum had often joked with him. He had such a talent for drawing even the most complex of portraits. At one time he'd taken to bringing a pencil and paper everywhere he could, drawing everything from the scenery in both nature and the cities that obstructed it, to the people- to all the ordinary, passersby that surrounded it from each and every corner.

It was a talent that had only gotten finely attuned as he grew older, and for this he'd been more than thankful. After his work was done, he gazed upon what had come from the inner working of his mind, only then aware that he'd scribbled some senseless notes alongside his sketches, as if explaining little details about them. They certainly were not anything he'd seen in real life; in fact, he even noted that most of the senseless words on the pages were things he'd only just added upon waking, making up the creatures until they seemed right. Not that he could ever truly decipher why exactly they weren't really completed until he scratched down this detail and that. It was almost as if he knew something in the back of his mind, but he couldn't ever puzzle it out. John wasn't sure if he would ever wrap his mind around it.

Still, ever since then he'd taken to this journal where he wrote and drew all these impossible things, whether they be from a dream or simply from his waking imagination. It was all in good fun, really. Pretending there was more out there, imagining the size of it. Monsters, creatures from another world, spirits; who or whatever they would be, his dream world was a vivid world in which he could imagine his life was more extraordinary. Something he knew could never really happen.

He was John Smith, nothing special at all. A schoolteacher, at that. Not that this was such a bad job. Really, it was one he did rather like from time to time. But that was only part of it.

He had no family anymore, at least not in the immediate. Distant relatives remained quite like that; distant. He'd never particularly felt the need to reach out himself. He had no wife, no one in which he felt he could settle down with and start a family. Even then he couldn't properly see himself being truly happy, living that kind of life. Though what kind of life he thought could really be out there for him to find, was really beyond him.

He was at another impasse in his life. Only this time he had no idea where he could possibly go from here.

Luckily for John Smith, someone was about to show him.


	4. It's Only Just Beginning

**Author's Note: **Thanks to my readers and reviewers. You're the ones who made all this possible...*tears up*:) Really though, thanks. You should know that I've been working on this, as well as the last few chapters, for a while. So I can't guarantee how past I can update. I will say, however, that I am completely obsessed with this fandom as of late and will update as soon as possible.

P.S. - So, what did you think of the "The Next Doctor?"

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_"All is flux; nothing stays still." - Heraclitus_

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She decided, upon opening the door that led to another time and place on that old blue and green planet, that she was either quite brilliant, or most probably the big, alien dunce she'd been told she was by one too many companions.

It wasn't a bad day to land, all things considered. She could smell the fresh air of a time long past yet so very present, the grass and pine and everything that brought her senses to feel the nature around her. The air was definitely crisp, and she could feel the wind hit her face as she breathed it deeply in. She wrapped her arms around herself, despite not being as easily effected by the weather as a human, taking notice of the leather encasing her arms.

The Bad Wolf idly fingered her leather clad arm and remembered finding the old beaten jacket not long upon entering the wardrobe. She hadn't even looked into a mirror yet, whether out of fear or just stubbornness she couldn't yet decipher. This form was still new to her and she hadn't quite gotten a handle on her new personality. Though she thought it was most likely the latter, from what she could tell of the way she'd deftly searched for something to cover up with so she wouldn't seem too out of place with the citizens trying to keep warm, stomping around her ship with a bit of arrogance.

Huh, so she was arrogant now. That might work. Yes, the last Time Lord, arrogant as they come. She should be. Yes, she could definitely do arrogant. Still, she thought maybe she'd be more than a little apprehensive no matter what the personality she'd ended up with. At this point, she thinks she might just crumple down and submit to more hopeless drowning of her grief if she takes the time to see what the events of her regeneration have brought her.

It was pure luck, really, finding that jacket hanging only in the first floor of the wardrobe. Well, if having been laid out on an armchair in plain sight could be considered as hanging up. Or luck, for that matter. It had appeared to be just waiting for her, and it had caused the corners of her lips to quirk up at the thought of how far the TARDIS had been going to make things easier.

She could be completely stubborn, her ship - much like herself. Some days she was lucky if the TARDIS decided to even land them correctly (because regardless of whether she'd passed the test, she _knew_ it couldn't be her piloting _all_ the time). On other days scouring the wardrobe was like a game of hide-and-seek in which she couldn't find anything where she knew she left it. She _had_ always had somewhat of a thing for dressing up, and changing bodies never changed that before. But today had definitely not been the day for games, not so soon after…well, _after_.

So s_h_he'd grabbed the worn coat and threw it over her shoulders as she bounded out of the blue double doors. Turning towards the ship in question, she couldn't help bringing a hand up and patting the side gently.

Grieving or not, nothing would stop her from being that stubborn ship she was. Years ago, that chameleon circuit had gone haywire, and she hadn't hesitated to putting her mechanics to work. And yet, no matter how hard or how many times she tried to fix it, the TARDIS always reverted it back to that old shape again, 'Police Public Call Box' declaring itself to the world…well, worlds, to be exact.

But she didn't mind, not really. In fact, she'd actually grown to be more than a little fond of the form it insisted on taking. It never ceased to amuse her how oblivious those apes could be when they put their mind to it, as no matter how many times they must have seen a big blue box in the middle of wherever she'd landed, it was rare that anyone even commented.

Well, there was certainly no point in prattling on inside her own mind when she should be doing the same to others with her own amazing gusto, was there?

There was a new alien threat about to make itself known to the inhabitants of this quaint, little town and it was once again up to her to stop it from harming any humans that could be…you know,_ harmed_ . That is, if they were harming anyone. You never knew; this could be one of those good days, where all the threatening alien wants is some easily obtained mineral or what have you and thought the humans would just attack on site if they asked nicely.

It could happen. _Wouldn't be_ that _unlikely_, she thought a little snidely. Sometimes humans just didn't change a bit. She really, really hoped this didn't end in disaster. Or not. Maybe this was just the death she was meant to have, but the TARDIS just wanted to delay it a bit.

She snorted. She should be so lucky.

All she really knew above everything else was that she was throwing herself headfirst into this, for better or for worse. Maybe she'd regret that later- no, scratch that- she _knew_ she was going to regret this later, but what else could she really do? That's right, nothing. Not unless curling up in your big, comfy bed eating _Ben and Jerry's Brownie Batter_ Ice Cream and watching Gone with the Wind like some teenaged girl that just got her heart broken counted as something.

What? Human females, no matter what the rest of the galaxy thought, did in fact know the cure to everything. Now, if she could just multiply all of that 10x and restore the universe to the way it was, maybe she'd be all right again.

Stop it, the Bad Wolf commanded herself, but stopped mid-thought. No, not Bad Wolf. Not today at least. All right, so it was back to the basics. Jane. Jane Smith. Her nose scrunched up at that. Was that really the best she could do? After all this time, she still could never get herself to be more creative than a name that's used for unidentified people. Whatever. With her people, being creative was like one of the seven deadly sins. Well, maybe not that bad. And she was thinking about them again. So. That was her name for the time being. Just the thought of it made her snort. Again, with the amazing detection skills of humans.

This was not the year to be the Bad Wolf. It was the eleventh of November, 1913, in the town of Farringham, England. She would most definitely not be fitting in by throwing out any bizarre titles in anyone's face. Thinking of the date once more, it brought her to her original point; she really had to be an idiot. Oh yes, the year before the Great War was exactly the place she needed to be. The calm before the oncoming storm, it was. Maybe being in a place that she knew was still in some sort of peace before all hell broke loose would give her some sore of insight. Or maybe it would cause all sanity to fly out the proverbial window. Who could tell.

Though she'd bet money on the aforementioned 'big, alien dunce' thing.

Taking in the scenery of the expansive green fields she'd landed in, she heaved a small sigh and thought about what exactly had brought her to this place, and why she hadn't simply played with the coordinates until she found a more fitting landing for herself.

She grunted at the thought, shivering a little, more from her straying mind than the cold, what with her lower body temperature. A frown crossed her face as something came to mind. Glancing down, she couldn't help but notice her own casual attire. Dark jeans and worn out boots on her feet, that old leather jacket covering a slightly-too-big-yet-still-a-little-form-fitting maroon jumper.

She turned to the TARDIS with a wrinkled nose and narrowed her eyes. "You've already thought of this, haven't you?"

A gentle nudge in her mind was the only response.

"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you." A statement this time, not a question. Though she knew her ship had no such features, she got the distinct impression in her mind of a parent giving her what earth children would refer to as "the look."

She glared at her ship. Then the look dropped and she sighed in defeat, cursing a little to the air.

"Right. No more coddling." She nodded, if only for herself, in agreement. If a rather begrudging agreement. "Fine then. But if I'm stuck playing find-the-mysteriously-missing-shoes again, all bets are off and I'm stopping at a planet with nothing but Baskin Robbins and calling it a day. Or several."

This time she received no response.

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**Random Quote Time!**

Saw this on some stories, and since I'm always a fan of witty (and sometimes meaningful) quotes, I thought I'd share some of my favorites!

**"I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I don't know the answer." - **_**Douglas Adams**  
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	5. Winds of Change

**Author's Note: **Wow! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it so much.

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_"Well I don't know what I'm looking for  
But I know that I just wanna look some more" - Brendan Benson, What I'm Looking For_

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If you would have asked John all that time ago why he decided that he wanted to become a teacher, he would have quite earnestly proclaimed "To make a difference."

From anyone else in the world, it would only sound as if an adult had been reading off a script meant to encourage children that they could go anywhere or be anything, when in reality they were nothing but words. But if you were to ever stand face-to-face with John Smith and listen to the passion in his voice and see the sparkling in his brown eyes, that's all it would take to be convinced that he meant every utterance from his lips.

Even when he was but a young boy, he would tell anyone who took the time to listen that he was going to change the world someday. So quiet and timid throughout his life, you would never guess that he had so much going on inside that mind of his. Yet he expressed so much hope for the future once you prodded it out of him that you wanted to believe everything he said. He was always so innocent, but always kept aware of the horrors of the world around him; determined from the very beginning that life could always be better, and that he could make it so if only he never allowed himself to lose faith.

Now, as a thirty-five year old schoolteacher, instructing boys not only on the history that came before them but the lessons of war itself, John wonders when he lost track of all those marvelous dreams of his. Was it simply a delusion of childhood fantasy, withering away as he grew older as so many dreams seemed to do in time? Could it possibly be the way his father, amazing man that he was but so stern in his beliefs, would constantly dissuade him from what he believed was nonsense, not out of spite but in trying to shape him for the future? He could never truly place the origins back to any specific moment in time; however the thoughts still plagued him over and over.

Especially recently.

Leaning heavily onto his desk, having dismissed his students only moments before, he took what he believed was a much needed breathe. Teaching teenaged boys wasn't half tiring, after all. Although, John knew that his drooping eyes and tired body had little to do with teaching. Attempting to rub the sleep out of his exhausted eyes, John contemplated on the more exact reason of his exhaustion. His dreams.

The night previous had been what he could only describe as utter chaos, if not in reality then certainly in the depths of his subconscious. Though his dreams were certainly fantastic in nature, drawing them out had always been sort of a fanciful notion. Simply something to pass the time and pretend for a few stolen moments that there were unimaginable things among him. Only now, this time, it was as if his mind couldn't even quite comprehend the sheer size of his imaginings. The colors so much more vivid; the creatures so much more real; everything was in Technicolor, overwhelming and surrounding him and nothing, none of it, no matter how hard he'd driven his brain to just remember, nothing could penetrate the resistance he got in the form of a splitting headache that hadn't gone away since he'd woken. It had shaken him, literally, from the inside out. As his eyes had struggled to readjust to the waking world, he realized just how deeply the shivers had wracked his body. It had taken him a few moments and a series of deep breathes until he was finally able to get enough of a handle on himself to still his limbs and calm his mind.

Absently rubbing his temples as he'd been doing the whole day thus far, John tried to shake himself from his thoughts as reminiscing about them only served to worsen his aching head. Perhaps his thoughts would be better served for something that didn't make him want to lay in bed in completed darkness, but did cause for some serious investigation. Something like the mysterious disappearances one of their well respected staff.

When word rang out that the English professor, Mr. James Pryce had never returned to class only three mornings ago, it was safe to say that the entire school was in a bit of a panic. Not only could no one conclude his whereabouts, but after being seen the evening before, seeming to be taking a stroll before retiring, not one person had reported seeing him after he ventured past the gaggles of people in town and into - suspiciously, many thought - the woods. Even that information only came from an elderly gentleman who claims to only have seen Pryce from the corner of his eye, a moment before he was out of sight.

Gossip raged like wildfire throughout the school, primarily among the students as could only be expected. In the last couple of days it had been impossible to walk the halls without hearing whispers about the possible whereabouts of their missing professor. When preparing to lecture his classes he'd have to interrupt the latest rumor that had found it's way to all of the students and teachers. It was quite the scandal in town, as well. The incident was currently being investigated by local authorities, yet he couldn't quite shake off the feeling that something was somehow amiss. Aside from the missing teacher, of course. As hot a topic as it had become in the short time since it had taken place, even now, only a couple of days later, it was as if the search was already deemed hopeless. As if for some reason, it was being downplayed.

This made John a slight bit suspicious. However, the very sudden appearance of another man by the name of Victor Kennedy is what made him positively anxious.

Exactly a day later, the mysterious appearance of the elusive professor that had claimed to have come to replace Pryce had situated himself where his predecessor had been. Not to mention putting him in unease from the first time he had greeted the man upon arrival. As if the fact that he had arrived at the school at such a time of scandal wasn't suspicious enough, Kennedy himself was downright unnerving.

He was a rather large man, his presence unable to go ignored. His hair had obviously been graying for some time now, all but a few wisps of color showing through the silver strands on his head as well as the goatee he had grown. He always wore a black suit as far as he had seen in the couple of days since he'd come, and that somehow seemed to add to the arrogance that rolled off the professor in waves every time he passed by or sparred a glance. And then there was that hat he always wore.

John shook his head at himself. It was a little silly, he must admit, finding Kennedy's appearance as troubling as he did. Yet, it wasn't really about something as trivial as the clothing he chose. No, as he thought before, the very presence of him put John on guard. He was pompous, that was no question to anyone who had approached him. If someone were to call John secluded, then they quite obviously hadn't met the new teacher. If at anytime forced to socialize, the new professor was prone to leaving a rather backhanded remark before he made some excuse or other to leave. Other than actually teaching the students - and thanks to a remark made by one of his more shy, but rather bright students named Timothy Latimer, he got the impression that the man still had a very self-important attitude in class - no one truly had the experience of finding out just who this Victor Kennedy was, other than that he was a replacement.

Not to mention the look he always had. It was clear in his eyes for anyone who dared to look, and John had most certainly been searching his gaze. Something was there. Something he didn't trust. Something that told him that he was not to be trusted.

Which brought John back to his earlier assessment. He had come to the Farringham school merely a day after the English professor had gone missing. Now, John had no delusions that he was anything of a detective or anything like that. He did, however, consider himself to be somewhat competent. So it was more than a bit difficult to believe Victor's story. According to the man himself, he'd just happened to be in town to visit his old friend from his own days in school; apparently he and James had gone back a long way, and so when news got out about the incident, Kennedy - who also happened to have history as a teacher himself - was immediately ready to step in.

John Smith was a very…personal person. He didn't have an overabundance of friends - not from lack of personality, but from his proneness to being alone. Still, he had, upon being at Farringham, somewhat befriended James Pryce while he'd been at the school. While he didn't have the knowledge that comes from being a close personal friend, John had taken to the overenthusiastic man immediately. He had been the type of person that you simply could not not be friends with once you met him. He'd rather reminded John of one of his own friends from his time in school as a boy, always cracking jokes when others wouldn't, making people smile when it was obvious that they could have cried moments before. He was such a character, someone who thoroughly enjoyed life.

The thoughts brought John back to reality for a moment, and he took a second to remember that James very well could be in more danger than he cared to think about. Still, it served to bring light to his original point as well.

There was no way on God's green earth that someone like James Pryce could ever have been close to a man like Victor Kennedy.

It just didn't add up. Hence why John was so very, very on guard when it came to recent events.

He heaved a sigh at his inner ramblings. Maybe it was all just in his head. Maybe the amazing things he's witnessed in his world of dreams was making him look just that little bit closer when in reality there was nothing amiss aside from the fact that he looked far too much into things. Somehow, that thought seemed a lot less likely. Which is ridiculous, really, when he didn't even have any real evidence that could explain his theory; that was mostly what kept him from attempting to explain any of it to any of colleagues.

Another sigh.

"I should really just lie down," he muttered to himself. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't realized that he'd still been in the empty classroom for at least five minutes.

Cursing so softly no one could hear even if they were in proximity, John once again rubbed his tired eyes for a moment before making his way out of the classroom. Once he stepped outside and felt the cool wind, he languidly leaned slightly against the doorway, taking a deep breathe of the fresh air into his lungs and allowing his eyes to drift close. It was just what he needed for the moment, just enough to temporarily clear his mind of his troubles and simply enjoy being.

"I see the boys have been tiring you again, Mr. Smith."

His eyes snapped open immediately, the voice shocking him out of his trance. Turning toward the sound, his face lifted into a smile.

"Matron Redfern!" he exclaimed, a flush appearing on his cheeks at being caught daydreaming.

"Hello, John," the nurse chuckled lightly in a voice he recognized after seeing her face. "I thought I asked you to call me Joan?"

Her tone was light with amusement, and now there was definitely a red tint on his face. It was an old argument between them now; well, as old as it could be with him only having been teaching at the school for a small time. They had taken a certain liking to each other when he'd arrived, and had been friends ever since. She often told him that he needn't bother with titles when around her - and he had said the same - but he still often found himself slipping into old habits brought on by the manners his mother had forced on him as a child.

"Indeed, you did," John replied, straightening himself as she came a bit closer. She had a coat wrapped tightly around herself in the face of the cold weather, and he become aware of the small chills running up his arms.

Joan's smile widened, and it was a bit infectious as he found himself following her lead.

"As I mentioned, though; you do look awfully exhausted."

"I suppose I do, yes," he grimaced, bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. It was a habit he'd had since he was a teenager. His mother used to tease him saying that she always knew when he was in trouble by the way he'd explain things, unconsciously getting a certain look on his face as he eventually rubbed his neck.

When she didn't appear pleased at his answer he continued. "I will admit it wasn't all the fault of the boys. Though they are quite a handful."

"Aren't they just?"

He laughed gently. "Quite," he replied. "I suppose I've just had a rather rough night."

"Oh?" Concern laced her words and her features. "Are you feeling all right? You aren't feeling ill, are you?"

He quickly interrupted her worries. "No, no, no! I'm feeling quite all right. I've only had trouble getting to sleep. I'm sure it's nothing serious."

Joan didn't appear utterly convinced, but she was indeed a nurse and John didn't appear to have any ailments other than the tiredness he'd been exuding.

"All right," she accepted skeptically. "But if there are any signs of illness you had better inform me immediately."

"Of course, Nurse Redfern- Joan!" he amended quickly at her disapproving look.

"Nevertheless," she started again, "you should still be sure to get some rest. Can't have you falling asleep in the midst of a lecture, can we?" She joked with mirth in her blue eyes.

It wasn't necessarily that he wanted to lie to Joan. Technically, he'd been truthful; he really hadn't been feeling ill. But he just didn't feel ready to speak to anyone personally about his dreams quite yet. There were personal, private to him. Something he thinks he might share one day to the right person.

He certainly liked Joan Redfern, that was true. They got along incredibly well despite his shyness, and they had grown into quite good friends. He can see, sometimes when they have conversations, a certain look that catches in her eyes. It's always smothered by a bit of uncertainty, as if she's not quite sure that she wants him to have seen in at all. He wonders sometimes if he should do the proper thing; ask her if he could court her, try to have a real relationship and settle down as he should be doing at his age.

He just can't help but think that when he does get married, deciding to spend the rest of his life with someone, that he should be a lot more certain about his feelings toward them. He should know, without a doubt, that he loves her. He wonders if he could ever really feel that way towards Joan.

They continued their conversation idly, John careful to keep their topics light because of his previous thoughts. A myriad of small things came up, from the weather - which led John to have to insist again that he was perfectly fine - to how their days had been, before they departed.

Walking the rest of the way to his quarters, he thought once more about the disappearance of his friend. Maybe there wasn't anything to think about, and he was only wasting time lingering on possibilities. But maybe he wasn't. Then and there, he decided that that was enough.

And if he heard the sounds of time and space and eternity from a distance, he wouldn't know that it meant his life was never going to be the same again, anyway.

* * *

**Random Quote Time!**

_"I can resist everything except temptation." - Oscar Wilde__  
_


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